


Fun

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:12:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4236789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gokudera sighs with all the appearance of unconcern, reaches up to loosen his tie from its grasp at his throat, and Yamamoto makes a funny anxious sound and gets up to move in closer." Yamamoto gets touchy with Gokudera and Gokudera finds a solution they both enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aceromanoffs](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=aceromanoffs).



Gokudera can feel Yamamoto’s eyes on him.

He doesn’t need to see to be sure. After this many years he knows what the other’s stare feels like, can tell almost just from the shift of attention in the air when Yamamoto’s focus has wandered away from whatever it is he is supposed to be doing to collect around Gokudera instead. He also knows how far he can push it, that he can slouch a little farther back against the couch, let his knees shift an inch or two wider in what passes as unconscious. It’s not enough to bring Yamamoto to his feet -- not yet -- but Gokudera does it anyway, hovers right at the edge of  _enough_  while he finishes the important part of his phone call. It’s not until the conversation is concluding that he sighs with all the appearance of unconcern, reaches up to loosen his tie from its grasp at his throat, and Yamamoto makes a funny anxious sound and gets up to move in closer.

“Really,” Gokudera says against the receiver, response to some mindless small talk that doesn’t require his attention as he blinks up to meet Yamamoto’s gaze. “Where are you planning on going?”

There’s an answer on the other end of the line, some garbled details of a cruise and summery-warm islands, but Gokudera isn’t listening anymore; he lets the phone hum in his ear with the reassurance of distraction, tips the receiver away from his mouth so it won’t pick up the way he purrs satisfaction as he reaches up for the trailing end of Yamamoto’s tie. When he tugs Yamamoto comes in like it’s a leash, his eyes shutting as his knee falls alongside Gokudera’s on the couch and his arm coming out to brace at the back; his mouth presses against silver hair, the heat of his exhale gusting through the strands, and Gokudera smiles, winds the tie around his hand so he can close his fingers on the half-loosened knot up near the heat of Yamamoto’s throat.

“Sounds like just the vacation you need,” he offers as the other speaker concludes his long-winded answer. Yamamoto’s arm is sliding around his shoulders, the weight of his affection far easier to bear now than it once was, and when he tips his head down to press a kiss against Gokudera’s neck the other grins instead of protesting, turns his head sideways to let Yamamoto work his way down against the line of his throat.

“Absolutely,” he agrees, only half-following the conversation now. “I’ll be in touch when you return.” Yamamoto shifts his knees a little wider, tips back to sit against Gokudera’s lap, and his fingers are catching at the bottom of the other’s shirt, now, gently pulling the fabric free of the other’s slacks. “Yes.” The shirt comes free, Yamamoto makes a humming noise of satisfaction as he reaches to fit his fingers under it, and Gokudera pushes against his chest with the hand twisting in Yamamoto’s tie, tipping the other off-balance until he has to shift back and catch himself with a knee on the floor instead of the soft of the couch. Gokudera leans forward, too, pushing into the other’s personal space as he goes, so when Yamamoto blinks up at him he’s watching his face, letting the other see the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Sure,” he says to the phone, leaning in close so the word blows warm against Yamamoto’s hair and the other’s eyes flutter shut. “Sounds good. I’ll talk to you later.” He pulls the phone away, turns to look to make sure the call hangs up to avoid an unintended listener, and only once the screen goes dark and locked does he toss it to the other end of the couch so he can reach for Yamamoto’s hair instead. Yamamoto turns to meet him without opening his eyes, pressing his lips to the edge of Gokudera’s cuff at his wrist with the warmed-over haze he always brings to kissing Gokudera’s skin.

“Work?” he asks, more like he knows he should than because he actually cares particularly.

Gokudera smiles, feels the sharp edges of the expression catch hot at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah.” He hooks a finger inside the loosened loop of Yamamoto’s tie, lets the length of it fall free while he tugs the knot down by a span of inches. “You shouldn’t interrupt me while I’m working.”

“You looked really good,” Yamamoto says, a statement rather than a protest or an apology. “I just wanted to touch you.”

“You  _always_  want to touch me,” Gokudera purrs, snaps his wrist to drag Yamamoto’s tie completely free. “That’s no kind of an excuse.” The fabric is soft at his hands, silk slipping across callused fingertips and winding around his wrists while Yamamoto stares up at his face like he can’t remember how to string words together into coherency. His eyelashes are very dark when he blinks, soft and shadowed across his cheeks, and Gokudera feels the heat in them like it’s pouring directly into his veins in place of blood.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he orders. Yamamoto blinks again, slow and a little bit dazed, but then he moves before Gokudera has time to repeat himself. He’s still got his jacket on, even if the fabric is rumpled from Yamamoto’s usual casual disregard for his clothes; Gokudera can see it pull taut over his shoulders as Yamamoto works his arms behind him to fit his wrists one atop the other at the small of his back.

“Good,” he says, and reaches out to grab at Yamamoto’s hair and pull him down. Yamamoto makes a brief, shocked noise, but he goes, turning his head to land at Gokudera’s thigh, and Gokudera leans in over him so he can stretch and reach the other’s hands. It’s a difficult angle -- he has to press in as close as he can get, curl himself in around Yamamoto’s shoulder while he winds the tie around the other’s wrists -- but then he has the knots falling into place, the fabric twisting into a hold to pin Yamamoto’s hands behind his back, and when he leans back it’s with a smile so pleased he can feel the self-satisfaction without seeing it.

“And better,” he declares while Yamamoto is still struggling to sit up with his hands tied behind him. He manages, after a moment, and then he’s rocked back on his knees and looking up to Gokudera’s face like he’s awaiting instruction. It’s remarkable how half-dressed he can look with his shirt still on and his coat still settled across his shoulders; it’s something in the damp at his lips, the ruffled dark of his hair, or maybe it’s just the way he’s looking at Gokudera, with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth falling open in anticipation. The thought makes Gokudera hum satisfaction, warm and pleased and powerful, and when he reaches out it’s to grab a handful of Yamamoto’s hair, to pull his head back and turn his face up so Gokudera can crush a kiss against his lips. Yamamoto hums, eyelashes shifting shut in Gokudera’s too-close peripheral vision, but Gokudera doesn’t let them linger for very long; it’s just a moment, a quick slide of his tongue past Yamamoto’s lips and against the heated friction of his mouth, and then he pulls back, shakes his hair back into place and leans back against the couch while Yamamoto is still blinking himself back into focus.

“Alright,” Gokudera allows. His lips are tingling with heat, his spine sparking electric. “Do whatever you want.”

Yamamoto’s eyelashes shift. Gokudera can see the confusion clinging to the motion, the uncertainty winding across his forehead. “What?”

“You wanted something, didn’t you?” Gokudera slides back a little farther against the couch, lets his knees fall a little wider, and Yamamoto’s eyes drop to the front of his slacks like his gaze is drawn by a magnet. Gokudera can’t help the grin that catches on his lips, makes no real attempt to hold to neutrality, so when he speaks his throat is purring audible amusement. “Go for it.”

The open buttons at the top of Yamamoto’s shirt leave his throat clear for Gokudera’s eyes, leave the motion of his convulsive swallow as obvious the little gasping sound he makes before he rocks up on his knees, the motion awkward with his pinned-back arms, and leans in over the edge of the couch. Gokudera reaches for his hair, less to steady or guide him and more just for the pleasure of having the strands under his fingertips, the satisfaction of listening to Yamamoto’s whine of appreciation as he tries to maneuver his way in towards Gokudera’s belt.

“Be careful,” Gokudera warns, the words purring into a taunt in his throat. “Don’t leave teeth marks on the leather.” He can feel the way Yamamoto shudders at the words, with the breadth of the other’s shoulders pressed in against the inside of his thighs and the heat of his exhale catching under the cover of his clothes, and he doesn’t try to answer before he’s tipping in to press his mouth to the metal buckle at the front of Gokudera’s belt.

Yamamoto is very close. The way his hands are tied behind his back makes his balance precarious at best, and the angle he’s twisting into fits him in close between Gokudera’s hips. Gokudera’s all but pressed to the line of his throat; he imagines he can feel every time Yamamoto swallows at the front of his slacks, the rhythm of desire catching hard in his own pulse from Yamamoto’s skin. He has both hands in Yamamoto’s hair, now, ruffling the strands up and tangled against his fingers, dark hair and pale skin interlacing, but Yamamoto doesn’t pause to hum appreciation or look up for a kiss like he normally would; he’s intent on what he’s doing, only the occasional click of teeth on metal or the wet sound of him trying to curl his tongue under the leather to speak to what he’s doing. Gokudera can feel Yamamoto’s breathing coming faster, catching into the edge of almost-anxiety as he keeps trying and failing to get traction, and he’s smiling in tandem with it, amusement turning into a frisson of heat under his skin until he doesn’t even try to hold back the laughter as he draws a hand free from Yamamoto’s hair to reach for his own tie.

“You’re not very good at this,” he observes. That gets him what he wanted, Yamamoto tipping his head up to see his expression. He’s still pressed between Gokudera’s legs, his lips flushed red and wet with his efforts and breathing harder than Gokudera realized; Gokudera curls his fingers inside the knot of his tie, drags it down slowly as a flourish, and Yamamoto’s eyes follow the motion, his breathing stuttering his shoulders into tense expectation. The fabric slides free, Gokudera twists his wrist to catch it around his fingers, and when he leans in Yamamoto rocks in to press his lips to the other’s wrist.

“I think we should up the difficulty,” Gokudera purrs, low and teasing into Yamamoto’s hair, and Yamamoto laughs breathless and hot at his skin.

“That doesn’t really make sense,” he says, glancing up until Gokudera can see the flicker of gold in his eyes.

“I don’t care,” Gokudera announces, and drapes the dark of his tie over Yamamoto’s bright stare. Yamamoto laughs at that, delight bubbling warm in his voice, and Gokudera pushes his head forward so he can fasten the knot against the back of Yamamoto’s head.

“I’m never going to manage it now,” Yamamoto says, his words coming muffled against the edge of Gokudera’s hip.

“Giving up already?” Gokudera teases. He lets Yamamoto’s head go, leans back to resume his casual slouch. “I thought you were more dedicated than that.”

“Hayato,” Yamamoto breathes, but it’s affection on his tongue instead of protest, he’s laughing as much as sighing. He doesn’t lift his head completely, just turns sideways to breathe his way along the crease of Gokudera’s slacks and back to the front of the clothing, and then he’s trying again, pushing at the buckle and trying to catch a hold on the belt with his teeth to tug it free. It’s no more effective now than at first, but the enthusiasm makes Gokudera laugh, brings his fingers back to scrape against Yamamoto’s scalp and drag down under the edge of his collar to press against bare skin. Yamamoto shudders, shoulders flexing like he’s trying to pull free of his restraints, and then he gives up entirely and lets the buckle go to press his mouth to the tight-stretched fabric of Gokudera’s slacks instead.

The heat is immediate. Yamamoto is breathing hard, every exhale fitting through the fabric like it’s not there, and Gokudera’s head drops back for a moment, his hips coming up involuntarily to shove hard at Yamamoto’s mouth. Yamamoto whimpers half-a-moan, pushes right back, and he’s sucking, now, fitting his lips as close around Gokudera’s cock as he can manage through the fabric and slicking his tongue against the cloth between them.

“You’re going to ruin my slacks,” Gokudera announces, but he doesn’t try to pull Yamamoto away. Easier to look back down, to see the way the blindfold cuts a clean line across Yamamoto’s features and the way his friction-flushed lips mold in against the damp of Gokudera’s pants. Yamamoto’s licking, pressing hard with his tongue and breathing coming so rushed and hot Gokudera can feel each of his panting exhales, and Gokudera can’t stop grinning, can feel delighted amusement pooling at the back of his tongue to purr into a satisfied chuckle when Yamamoto turns his head the other direction and leans in like he’s trying to get impossibly closer.

Gokudera lets him keep going for a while, until the shape of Yamamoto’s mouth is printed in the wet of the fabric clinging against his cock inside his still-fastened slacks. But Yamamoto’s willingness to attempt to suck him off right through his clothes notwithstanding the friction is more ticklish than satisfying, frays through Gokudera’s patience until he has finally had enough of teasing. He twists his hand into a fist at the back of Yamamoto’s shirt, drags at the other’s jacket to pull him away by force in spite of the whimper of loss this wins from the other’s throat.

“Hayato,” Yamamoto starts, shifting like he’s trying to break free, and Gokudera growls him into silence, keeps his hold while he pulls at his belt one-handed. Either that’s enough to get Yamamoto to capitulate, or he hears the click of the metal and figures out what’s going on; all that really matters is that he goes still, rocked back over his heels while Gokudera pushes his button open and drags the zipper down, and then he can shove the cloth down by a few inches and work himself free.

“Okay,” he says, sighing the word with the satisfaction of oncoming relief, and he lets Yamamoto go. The other leans in as soon as he’s free, pressing in against the bare edge of Gokudera’s hip and opening his mouth wide before he’s even oriented himself. He turns his head, the corner of his mouth bumping at the head of Gokudera’s cock, and Yamamoto makes a low whine of relief and takes Gokudera into his mouth while Gokudera drops his head back and shuts his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe. It’s better this way, the heat of Yamamoto’s mouth sliding down over him without the barrier of clinging-wet fabric between them, and Yamamoto is humming, words or just incoherent gratitude Gokudera’s not sure, but the vibration feels like sparks jumping up along each vertebrae in his spine. When Gokudera rocks up Yamamoto takes him back farther in his mouth, groaning over his tongue like he’s spiraling closer to orgasm himself, and Gokudera’s hands are back in dark hair, he’s spreading his fingers wide to brace himself against the back of Yamamoto’s head and growling wordless appreciation out into the air. Yamamoto’s movements are restrained by the way his arms are pinned back, all the elegance of learned technique stripped away to leave just his enthusiasm, the rushed motion of his head and the wet slip of his tongue and the sound of his purring delight trembling up over Gokudera’s skin. Gokudera closes his hand at the back of Yamamoto’s head, curls his fingers in around the knot of the blindfold, and Yamamoto comes in closer, farther, until his lips are brushing against the base of Gokudera’s cock and his breathing is stuttering desperate and strained. Gokudera is drawn tight, a wire thrumming under tension, and then Yamamoto whimpers, a garbled noise still understandable as Gokudera’s name, and Gokudera groans and comes in long shaking waves over Yamamoto’s tongue. Yamamoto’s lips tighten, his throat works, and by the time Gokudera realizes he’s staring blank warmth at the ceiling Yamamoto is sucking him clean.

“Jesus,” Gokudera says to the air, and then he looks back down as Yamamoto pulls away and gasps a breath. He’s a mess, his lips swollen and hair tangled around the blindfold and breathing so hard Gokudera can see it in his shoulders, and whatever formality his suit granted him has long since been lost. It makes Gokudera grins, flashing heat even though Yamamoto can’t see it, and when he says, “Your turn” it’s Yamamoto’s shoulder he reaches for, pushing the other back instead of sliding the blindfold free. Yamamoto makes a brief, startled sound of shock, teetering for a moment before he topples sideways and back, and Gokudera’s on him as fast as he falls, straddling Yamamoto’s hips so he can wrench the other’s belt free of its buckle.

“Are you going to take the blindfold off?” Yamamoto asks, sounding shaky and weak and compliant.

“No,” Gokudera says, bites the word off into a growl. Yamamoto’s slacks fall open under his touch, as obedient as Yamamoto himself, and when he slides down the other’s legs Yamamoto chokes on an inhale, bucks up against nothing like he can’t help the instinctive response.

“I want to see you,” Yamamoto says, protest falling weak and shaky, and Gokudera laughs, wraps his fingers around the edge of Yamamoto’s pants to drag them down off his hips.

“Use your imagination,” he purrs, and ducks his head, and slides his mouth down against the aching-hot shape of Yamamoto’s cock. Yamamoto makes a half-strangled noise, a choke smoothing over into a groan of appreciation, and Gokudera dips in further, pressing his lips in tight and sucking hard as he moves his head over the other’s length. He can feel Yamamoto shaking under him, involuntary tremors running all up his legs and rocking him up farther into Gokudera’s mouth, but mostly it’s his breathing that Gokudera’s paying attention to, the desperate inhales and the exhales pulling into moans with Gokudera’s movements. It makes him want to smile, does make him laugh, and if the clarity of the amusement is lost to the heat at his tongue the feeling comes through clear enough, drags a groaned “ _Hayato_ ,” as Yamamoto trembles against the floor.

Gokudera’s tongue is burning with salt, his lips catching at Yamamoto’s skin as he moves, but he doesn’t pull away, to catch a breath or even to tease; he just comes in farther, moves faster, until Yamamoto is straining at the tie on his wrists and groaning some wordless warning. Then Gokudera does pull back, slides his mouth away to replace it with the quick-rushed stroke of his fingers, and when Yamamoto chokes and gasps, “Hayato, I’m going to --” he says, “I know you are,” clear and careful, and ducks his head to close his lips at the head of Yamamoto’s cock just as the other starts to shudder into orgasm. The extra sensation makes Yamamoto’s hips jerk up, knocks his groan into open-mouthed silence, and Gokudera doesn’t pull away, just sucks like he’s drawing Yamamoto’s orgasm out of him with every quiver of reaction. By the time he pulls back Yamamoto is still at the floor, motionless except for the rhythm of his chest working on long gasps of air like he’s trying to catch up on missed breathing.

Gokudera’s grinning when he leans in and reaches up to push the tie around Yamamoto’s eyes up and off. Yamamoto blinks at the onrush of light, visibly taking a moment to place himself; then his eyes land on Gokudera’s face, his expression melts into soft affection, and Gokudera has to duck down to press his mouth to Yamamoto’s smile before he even loosens his hands.

“That was fun,” Yamamoto observes after Gokudera has pulled away, while Gokudera is pushing him over onto his side so he can reach for the knot holding Yamamoto’s hands back.

“You think everything is fun,” he points out, the words dipping into the edge of affection as the tie comes free. Yamamoto’s wrists are chafed into a flush from the restraints, but the color starts to fade even as Gokudera watches, and then one arm is coming out to loop around his waist and drag him down to the floor too.

“Get off me,” Gokudera says with no force behind the words. It’s hard to find irritation when Yamamoto is humming against his shoulder, making use of his newly freed hands to pull Gokudera in against the rumpled front of his coat. Gokudera maneuvers a hand free, reaches up to shove his fingers less-than-gently through Yamamoto’s hair, and Yamamoto laughs faint against his shirt and tucks himself in closer. It makes Gokudera smile, enjoyment tingling pleasantly under his skin, and when Yamamoto says again, “Wasn’t it fun?” his answer is easy to form.

“Yeah,” soft and gentle as raindrops. “Yeah, Takeshi, it was fun.”


End file.
